


You're Softer Under the Spikes

by AriadneKurosaki



Category: Bleach
Genre: Also they get adopted by the grandma across the hall, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Ichigo is soft, Meet-Cute, Rukia looks soft, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadneKurosaki/pseuds/AriadneKurosaki
Summary: His neighbor is…not what he expected. She’s petite, probably almost a foot shorter than him, and her dark hair comes down to her chin in a silky bob. But she’s in a knee-length lavender dress with an honest to god yellow cardigan over it, and the purse slung over one arm is plain and black. Ichigo realizes he’s been caught as the singing stops.She'sthe woman who was just belting out the lyrics toWhoever Brings the Night?
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	You're Softer Under the Spikes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verothelilsparkleghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verothelilsparkleghost/gifts).



> Prompt: Heavy metal meet-cute, but they're neighbors and Ichigo meets Rukia because she's singing at the top of her lungs

Kurosaki Ichigo doesn’t know – or care to know – most of his neighbors. Across the hall there’s the old woman who occasionally asks for his help with things like changing out the lightbulbs in her chandelier (and compensates him with the best mochi he’s ever eaten, and sometimes fantastic shumai). There’s also the auburn-haired girl in 9F, at the far end of the hallway, who has – three times now – set off the smoke alarms.

Well, he shouldn’t call her a girl. They’re the same age and went to high school together, and if he’d known that Inoue Orihime lived here before moving in, Ichigo wouldn’t have signed the lease. Bad enough that she’d been obsessed with him in high school; it’s years later, he’s working on a PhD in literature, and she _still_ stares at him like the homeless puppies in those fundraising commercials.

Ichigo’s not exactly the type to draw people to him, anyway; after years of being called a _punk_ just because of his hair, he decided to lean into the aesthetic. His closet’s full of black leather jackets and tight, black jeans; he has a lot of band t-shirts too. Then there are the tattoos, although only the ones on his left arm show. In short, he’s not exactly presenting himself as a clean-cut salaryman, and everyone else he’s met, no matter what floor they live on, looks like they stepped straight out of a magazine ad for Benetton.

So when he’s getting out of his car in the parking garage one night and the air is suddenly filled with heavy bass and a _really_ familiar melody, Ichigo’s just not prepared. He pushes the driver-side door shut as a dark blue coupe pulls up the ramp; he’s seen it before in a spot near his. The driver-side window is open and Nightwish’s _Whoever Brings the Night_ is pouring out, the lead singer’s voice interlaced with the driver, who Ichigo can’t quite make out in the gloomy lighting of the garage.

The car pulls into the spot two down from his – the driver lives on his _floor_ – and the music stops. The singing doesn’t.

“Poison dart of desire! All your love is a lie, you one-night butterfly, hurt me, be the one, whoever brings the—”

His neighbor is… _not_ what he expected. She’s petite, probably almost a foot shorter than him, and her dark hair comes down to her chin in a silky bob. But she’s in a knee-length lavender dress with an honest to god yellow _cardigan_ over it, and the purse slung over one arm is plain and black. Ichigo realizes he’s been caught as the singing stops.

“You’re staring,” his neighbor points out, cheeks flushing a pretty pink hue. Ichigo meets her eyes and swallows; they’re big and such a deep blue they’re nearly purple.

“You don’t look like someone who listens to metal,” he says finally. And – that was a _stupid_ thing to say, he thinks belatedly. He hates when other people gatekeep.

She scoffs, eyes raking over him. “I know.”

Ichigo’s cheeks flush with heat. “Sorry, I just mean – you’re wearing…” He raises his arm and gestures in her general direction. He’s doing this all wrong and he wants to tell her that she looks _pretty_. “Gah. I didn’t mean it that way,” he mumbles.

Thankfully, she takes pity on him. There’s a little smirk on her face as she says, “I’m a primary school teacher, I can’t exactly wear my band shirts to work.” Her voice is lower than he expected based on her singing, but pleasantly so.

That’s at least something he can work with. “I teach classes at Seireitei. They’re kind of used to what I wear by now,” Ichigo explains, and scrubs the back of his neck nervously. “Do you – like other metal bands?”

She locks her car doors with the little remote clasped in her hand. “Kamelot, Beast in Black, I like a lot of music,” she says, and looks him over again. “Do you hang out in parking lots often?”

It surprises a laugh out of him, and Ichigo locks his own car. “Nah. I was just headed upstairs.” He steps forward and she follows him to the metal door into their building; he taps the wall-mounted sensor with the black fob on his keychain and holds the door for her when it opens. “I’m Kurosaki Ichigo, by the way,” he says while they’re waiting for the elevator. The underground lobby area around them is spartan but a little nicer than the garage; the walls are covered in frosty white paint and there’s a fake plant in one corner. The lights overhead are nicer, too, and much brighter.

“Kuchiki Rukia.” She holds her hand out and Ichigo takes it in his much larger one. This close and with better lighting Rukia is even prettier, and even with the cardigan she has a nice figure.

Then the elevator doors open and she steps in ahead of him, and Ichigo swallows. Her ass is curvier than he expected, and _damnit, don’t stare_ , _don’t stare_ he thinks as he steps in and leans over to hit the button for the ninth floor. “What floor?” he asks.

“We’re on the same floor. I’m in 9D.”

The elevator is a little warm, and Ichigo drops his messenger bag on the floor to take his jacket off, revealing the tattoos down one arm. It turns out that’s a good choice – he catches the way she glances at them _and_ the way her eyes seem to flash with appreciation. “I’m in 9C.”

“Surprised I’ve never heard you blasting music, if you’re such a metalhead,” she teases.

“Ah. I’m usually up late studying or writing, so I use headphones,” Ichigo explains with another nervous scrub of his neck.

“I thought you teach?” she asks, and glances down at the bag between his legs. And then – yeah, she’s checking _him_ out too, he’s pretty sure.

“I’m in a PhD program and teaching part-time. And I work part-time at the literacy org run by the university.”

“Oh! I interned there a few years ago, before I started teaching at Karakura Elementary,” Rukia explains. Her smile is a little slow to come but it’s beautiful when it does, and the way she tucks a bit of hair behind her ear and looks up at him…

The elevator door opens, and the old woman across the hall steps back to let them pass. “Rukia-chan!” she greets cheerfully, and gives a shallow bow in greeting. “How are my favorite students today?”

“Chiaki-san!” Rukia’s voice is higher suddenly, and Ichigo wonders if it’s the tone she uses with her students. “They’re wonderful. Thank you so much for coming in last week to help.”

“Ah, I remember when my own boys were young. It’s hard when the school is short-handed. Is Rangiku feeling better?”

“She’s feeling _much_ better, and we’re glad to have her back with us in the classroom,” Rukia assures her. “But I think my students will miss your cookies.”

Ichigo inches out of the way but lingers close, and it catches Masuda Chiaki’s attention. “Ah! So you’ve met our Ichigo-kun,” she says, and pats his forearm lightly. “He doesn’t sleep enough, but he’s very good at changing my light bulbs.” Then she glances between them. “Oh! I have a batch of my homemade soup for each of you, you’re _both_ looking too slender. _Don’t_ move.” She bustles back toward her apartment and disappears into the doorway.

Ichigo and Rukia look at each other and laugh a little helplessly. “So she’s adopted you too?” Ichigo asks.

“I think she’s adopted half the floor,” Rukia mumbles, but she’s smiling again. “I don’t mind, though.”

“Ah! Here, enough for two meals _each_. Just heat it up on the stovetop for a few minutes, and add a little extra water,” Chiaki instructs as she thrusts a huge plastic container into Ichigo’s hands and then into Rukia’s. Then she glances between them. “I’m sure Rukia-chan would like some tea, Ichigo-kun. Well, I won’t keep you. Enjoy the rest of your evening!”

The elevator doors close and their “adoptive” grandmother is gone.

“Can – can I make you a cup of tea?” Ichigo asks, cheeks heating up again. “And I have the newest album from Dir en Gray. We could listen to it, if you’re interested.”

Rukia sways a little, making her pretty lavender dress swing. “And we have the soup from Chiaki-san, too. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

He grins. “No, we wouldn’t.” He unlocks the door to his apartment and they step inside as he silently thanks all the gods that he keeps his place clean. Well, except for the desk, but that’s tucked around the corner and Rukia’s unlikely to see that. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get the tea started. Here, I’ll put your soup in the refrigerator,” he offers.

Their hands brush when she hands over the enormous container. But Ichigo does just what he said he would, and soon they’re sitting on his low, charcoal-hued sofa sipping hojicha out of big mugs. Rukia’s hands are so much smaller than his that they can barely wrap around the cup. She’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re pretty cute too,” she says, looking at him over the rim of her mug.

“ _Cute_ isn’t exactly what I was—Shit, I said that out loud? I mean—” Ichigo realizes he’s not even coherent, and sputters to a stop. He resists the urge to hide his face with his mug.

Rukia just laughs again and leans in closer. “You’re softer under the spikes on your jacket, aren’t you?” she teases.

His cheeks are so warm they’re a little painful. “People kept calling me a punk ‘cause of the hair. Which is my _real color_ , thanks. I figured I might as well look the part,” he grumbles.

Then she says, “I like your hair,” just as the soup hisses and spits onto the stovetop, and Ichigo sloshes tea over his hands as he bolts up to get the pot off the heat before it spills over.

* * *

And after all that, and a shared dinner of dumpling soup and mochi for dessert, they walk to his door only reluctantly. “Thanks for dinner,” she says, and Ichigo smirks. Her number is in his phone and his is in hers, and there are tentative plans for tea again in a few days.

“All I did was heat up the soup.”

“Ah, but you’re good company,” Rukia says, making him blush again.

“You are too.” Ichigo leans down, eyes darting to meet hers, and when she doesn’t back away he presses a light kiss to her cheek.

“You are _much_ softer than the music you listen to, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Rukia complains, and before Ichigo can do more than huff in confusion she grabs the front of his shirt to keep him there for a _proper_ kiss. His arms flail before he wraps them around her, and when they part, they’re both grinning like fools. “Have a good night, Ichigo,” she says, and opens the door behind her.

“Have a good night, Rukia,” he murmurs.

When Ichigo opens his fridge a few minutes later he realizes that they forgot all about her soup. He grabs his water pitcher and shuts the door. It’s a good excuse to see her again tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> By request, a quick playlist inspired by this fic can be found [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4rDzJbRQUrmXusoTEP4DUo?si=4wvz1JlLS-Kgl9-D6k4C3g)


End file.
